


Eyes Unlatched

by hiddenheadspace



Series: Locks [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddenheadspace/pseuds/hiddenheadspace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean meets Michael in the streets one evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes Unlatched

Dean stopped dead.

There was a man standing across the street, speaking with a young woman loading up a cart. It was hard to tell over the distance, but his face was serious. His hands moved to adjust something on the cart while he spoke, and Dean couldn’t stop watching.

The man looked up, maybe sensing the eyes on him. Their gazes crossed for half a breath before Dean was abruptly dragged back to earth by his little brother’s voice.

“Dude, stop making eyes at the sailor,” Sam complained. “If you want to bang him, go for it, but later, okay? We’re kind of busy right now.”

Dean turned a scowl on him. “I was not ‘making eyes’. And how do you know he’s a sailor?”

Sam looked at him as if he was a new and special brand of unintelligent. “Well, the ships came in this morning, and I’ve never seen him before,” he said slowly. “So it seemed like a logical jump to me.”

Dean considered that. “Shut up.”

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean chanced another glance to where the man had been, but found that he was gone, leaving only the young woman speaking with Sarah, who ran the fruit stall.

Biting down disappointment, he turned back to find that Sam had apparently given up on him and was now halfway up the street. “Hey!” he said, annoyed, and jogged to catch up.

 

* * *

 

Evening was setting in when Dean made his way down to the waterfront to see if Ash was up for a pint. The night was unusually clear for spring, and the sky was streaked with fading orange light.

He saw that many of the ships from earlier had departed already, and fought back a pang of disappointment. The sailor must be gone already.

He turned his steps along the road in the direction of the Porthouse, but was brought short when a voice called out to him.

“You’re the boy from earlier, aren’t you?”

Dean turned. The dark-haired man stood watching him from beside a house. He was holding a bottle in his hand and his eyes were bright with intensity.

“I suppose you’re not a sailor then,” Dean said, drifting closer. “And I’m hardly a boy, we look the same age.”

“No, I see that now. And no, not a sailor.” The man slid from the alleyway and stepped towards him. “I’m Michael.”

“Dean.” He came within reach and offered his hand.

Michael’s palms were covered in rough scars. his handshake was firm. His gaze searched Dean’s face curiously.

“So, Dean.” His name rolled off the man’s tongue with complete ease. Dean sort of liked the way he made it sound halfway to a promise. “I’m assuming you live on the island, then?”

“Born and raised,” Dean said cheerfully. “Did you roll in this morning?”

Michael nodded. “My family hopes to stay here for a few months,” he said. “We had some difficulties back home…it’s for the better.” He continued to meet Dean’s gaze unflinchingly, having yet to look away. “Am I wrong in thinking you were watching me this afternoon?”

Dean could feel heat rise to his face and hated it. “Not wrong,” he said, a little roughly.

Michael nodded and raised a hand to hold his chin. “And am I correct in the assumption I’m making now?” he asked.

He could probably feel Dean’s pulse speed up. “I don’t believe so,” Dean said, and slid half a step closer.

Michael’s eyes shifted from coolness to a hint of a smile. He leaned close enough for Dean to feel his breath. He shut his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Later, Michael traced his features in silence, watching Dean’s eyelids flutter involuntarily. “I think I could look at you for hours and not be bored,” he murmured.

Dean opened his eyes and pressed up to kiss him. “Did I mention,” he asked, “that your face does this hilarious scrunchy thing when I touch you?”

Michael scowled. Dean laughed low into his ear and stretched back out, pleased to find that Michael couldn’t help but follow the movement.

“Get down here,” Dean ordered, and Michael bent down to catch the edge of his mouth before sliding down to mouth at his neck.

Dean might have accidentally fallen asleep some time after that. Michael might have still been there in the morning, sprawled next to him with his eyes half-open, watching him wake up with open awe.

**Author's Note:**

> :| It is really hard to write sexual tension when you're asexual fyi. Hope it came across alright.
> 
> Playlist for the series [here](http://8tracks.com/hiddenheadspace/locks)!


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